Troy looked away, out at the water and the boats. “You know, it’s a shame sometimes the way life works. You meet somebody by chance, you strike up a friendship, and then poof, they’re gone. It’s all so . . . so transient.”
Carol came over beside him and stretched to kiss his cheek. “And you know I like you, too,” she said, lightening up the conversation with a grin and making certain that Troy understood what kind of a friendship they could have. “But cheer up. All is not lost. You’ll see me tomorrow for a while and then maybe when I return the golden thing on Monday.”
She hooked her arm through his as they momentarily walked back down the Jetty, away from the loaded cart. “And who knows,” Carol laughed, “I’m down in the Keys from time to time. We could have a drink together and you could tell me some more stories. “They could just barely make out the spotlight above the canopy on the Florida Queen some hundred yards in the distance. “I see your friend the professor is still at work. He’s not strong on good-byes. Or any other area of manners as far as I can tell.”
She turned, switching locked arms, and they walked back to the loaded cart. They moved through the apparently deserted headquarters without speaking. When the footlocker had been replaced in the station wagon, Carol gave Troy a hug. “You’re a good man, Troy Jefferson,” she said. “I wish you well.”
Nick was almost ready to leave by the time Troy returned to the boat. He was packing a small exercise bag. “Looks innocent enough, doesn’t it, Troy? Nobody will ever suspect that one of the great treasures of the ocean is in here.” He paused a moment and changed the subject. “You put her safely in her car? Good. She’s a strange one, isn’t she, all feisty and aggressive but still pretty at the same time. I wonder what makes her tick.”
Nick zipped up the bag and walked around to the side of the canopy. “Just finish up with the diving gear tonight. Don’t worry about the rest of the boat — we’ll fix it up tomorrow. I’m going to go home and dream of riches.”
“Speaking of riches, Professor,” Troy said with a smile, “how about that hundred-dollar loan I asked you for on Tuesday. You never answered me and just said we’ll see.”
Nick walked deliberately over to Troy and stood right in front of him. He spoke very slowly. “I should have made my Polonius speech to both of us when you asked me for a loan the first time. But here we are now, borrower and lender, and I don’t like it. I will lend you a hundred dollars but, Mister Troy Jefferson, this is positively the last time. Please don’t ever ask me again. These loans for your so-called inventions are making it hard for me to work with you.”
Troy was a little surprised by the unexpected harshness in Nick’s tone. But he was also angered by the connotation of the last sentence. “Are you suggesting,” Troy said softly, suppressing his temper, “that I’m not telling the truth, that the money is not being spent on electronics? Or are you telling that you don’t believe an uneducated black man could possibly invent anything worth having?”
Nick faced Troy again. “Spare me your righteous racial indignation. This is not a question of prejudice or lies. It’s money, pure and simple. My lending you money is fucking up our friendship.” Troy started to speak but Nick waved him off. “Now it’s been a long day. And a fascinating one at that. I’ve said all I want to say on the subject of the loan and I consider the issue finished.”
Nick picked up his bag, said good night, and left the Florida Queen. Troy went behind the canopy to organize the diving gear. About ten minutes later, just as he was finishing, he heard someone calling his name. “Troy . . . Troy, is that you?” an accented voice said.
Troy leaned around the canopy and saw Greta standing on the jetty under the fluorescent light. Even though there was now a slight chill in the air, she was wearing her usual skimpy bikini that showed off her marvelous physique. Troy broke into a grand smile, “Well, well, if it isn’t superkraut! How the hell are you? I can see you’re still taking care of that wondrous body.”
Greta managed the beginnings of a smile. “Homer and Ellen and I are having a small party tonight. We noticed that you were working late and thought that maybe you’d like to join us when you’re done.”
“Just might do that,” Troy said, nodding his head up and down. “Just might do that.”
9
“OH, God, can’t we stop now? Finally? Please let us. It’s so quiet here, now.” She was speaking to the stars and the sky. The old man’s head slumped forward in the wheelchair as he drew his last breath. Hannah Jelkes knelt beside him to see if he was indeed gone and then, after kissing him on the crown of the head, she looked up again with a peaceful smile. The curtain fell and rose again in a few seconds. The cast assembled quickly on stage.
“Okay, that’s it for tonight, good job.” The director, a man in his early sixties, gray hair thinning on the top, approached the stage with a bounce. “Great performance, Henrietta, try to can that one for the opening tomorrow night. Just the right combination of strength and vulnerability.” Melvin Burton nimbly jumped up on the stage. “And you, Jessie, if you make Maxine any lustier they’ll close us down.” He spun around with a flourish and laughed along with two other people at the front of the theater.
“Okay, gang,” Melvin turned back to address the cast, “now go home and get lots of rest. It was better tonight, looked good Oh, Commander, can you and Tiffani stay around for a moment after you change? I have a couple more pointers for you.”
He jumped back down from the stage and walked back to the fourth row of the theater where his two associates were sitting. One was a woman, even older than Melvin but with twinkling green eyes behind her granny glasses. She was wearing a bright print dress full of spring colors. The other person was a man, about forty, with a studious face and a warm, open manner. Melvin fretted as he sat down beside them. “I worried when we picked Night of the Iquana that it might be too difficult for Key West. It’s not as well known as Streetcar or Glass Menagerie. And in some ways the characters are just as foreign as those in Suddenly, Last Summer. But it looks almost okay. If we can just fix the scenes between Shannon and Charlotte.”
“Are you sorry now you added the prologue?” the woman asked. Amanda Winchester was an institution in Key West. Among other things, she was the doyenne of the theatrical entrepreneurs in the revitalized city. She owned two of the new theaters near the marina and had been responsible for the formation of at least three different local repertory groups. She loved plays and theater people. And Melvin Burton was her favorite director.
“No, I’m not, Amanda. It clearly adds to the play to get some kind of initial feeling for how frustrating it would be to lead a group of Baptist women on a tour of Mexico in the summer. And without the sex scene between Charlotte and Shannon in that small, stuffy hotel room, I’m not sure their affair is believable to the audience.” He paused a moment, reflecting. “Huston did the same thing with the movie.”
“Right now that sex scene doesn’t play at all,” the other man said. “In fact it’s almost comical. The hugs they exchange are like the ones my brother gives his daughters.”
“Patience, Marc,” Melvin answered.
“Something has to be done or we should take the prologue out altogether,” Amanda agreed. “Marc’s right, the scene tonight was almost comical. Part of the problem is that Charlotte looks like a child in that scene.” She paused a moment before continuing. “You know, the girl has gorgeous long hair and we have it stacked on top of her head to look prim and proper. Clearly she wouldn’t wear it down all day in the heat of a Mexican summer. But what if she took it down when she went to Shannon’s room?”
“That’s a great idea, Amanda. As I have often said, you would have made a fabulous director.” Melvin looked at Marc and they exchanged a warm smile. Then the director settled back in his seat and started thinking about what he was going to tell his two cast members in a few moments.
Melvin Burton was a happy man. He lived with his room-mate of fifteen years, Marc Adler, in a beach house on Sugarloaf Key, about ten miles east of Key West. Melvin had directed plays on Broadway for almost a decade and had been associated with the theater in one capacity or another since the mid-fifties. Always careful with his money, Melvin had managed to save an impressive amount by 1979. Worried about the impact of inflation on his savings, Melvin had sought advice from an accountant who was a friend of a close associate. It was almost love at first sight. Marc was twenty-eight at the time, shy, lonely, unsure of himself in the maelstrom of New York City. Melvin’s savoir faire and theatrical panache opened Marc up to aspects of life that he had never known.